Letters
by freakwriterCHM
Summary: George thinks that if Fred were there, he would laugh at him. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. It's all property of the genius that is J.K. Rowling.

**A/N:** the explanation for this is that I recently got to read the Harry Potter books again, and I realized that I miss Fred so much :( Of all the deaths featured in the seventh book, Fred's was the one that shocked me the most. I guess I always viewed Fred and George as 'indestructible', and well... that's it.

* * *

He feels like a statue. And that's the only sensation he really feels – other than that, nothing. It's cold, rainy, and thunder rumbles in the distance. And yet he doesn't feel anything. He's a statue. He doesn't move, he doesn't speak, he doesn't hear.

Everybody is crying around him. His mother, father, brothers, sister, friends. And, as much as he would like to be crying, there are no tears in his eyes. He would do anything to cry, and still, he can't. He'd tear his eyes off if he could, right here right now, but he can't.

His mother clings to him, and he stays still. He doesn't wrap his arm around her, he doesn't mourn with her, he doesn't even look at her. Bill puts a hand on his right shoulder and squeezes it, but he doesn't give any signs of response. He doesn't react. Because he's just like a statue. He doesn't move, he doesn't speak, he doesn't hear.

He only sees. And what he sees is a crowd of people gathered around a mountain of flowers. And behind the flowers, there's a tombstone, and a name on it.

'Fred Weasley'.

George thinks that if Fred were there, he would laugh at it.

-

An exhausting silence has reigned over the house for a week, and George cannot stand it anymore. He's sitting on his bed, legs crossed, one of his – their – strangest devices in his hands. He drops it on the ground and sighs. That fucking silence is killing him.

He hears somebody opening the door, and turns around. "There you are! I've been waiting for you for a week. Where…" But then he realizes. Red hair, blue eyes, tall, slender, but it's not Fred. "Ah, Ron. What do you want?"

"I… I just wanted to check if you were alright," Ron mutters. "George, uh… mum says you should come down and have dinner with us."

"Yeah, sure." George nods. "In five minutes. If Fred's not here in five minutes, who cares, I'll come down and eat with you. I'm hungry. And I hate it, when he disappears."

"George, ah…" Ron looks like he's about to cry, and George wonders why on Earth everyone seems to be always crying these days. Except for him and Fred, of course. But Fred isn't even there. He doesn't know where Fred is.

"Ronald." he says firmly, and his brother does not reply. He waits, as if more were to come. George stands up, and pats him softly on the back. "Is there anything wrong?"

Ron opens and closes his mouth several times, but says nothing. George chuckles. "Git," he says, and then he pushes him out of the room. "Don't wait for me. I'll come in five minutes."

-

"Mum, have you seen Fred?"

Molly lets out a deep sigh, and shakes her head. "George."

"I know, I know. Look, we didn't do it on purpose, it just… I promise that I will clean the kitchen as soon as possible. But since I didn't make that mess alone, I'm looking for Fred, so that he can help me with it."

"George, Fred is not coming home. Fred is dead." Her eyes are wet with tears, her face the portrait of despair.

Those words hit him like a punch in the face. He blinks twice, then frowns, and says: "Yes, and I'm Merlin."

"George. Please. It's been nearly two weeks. You came to the funeral. You saw him." Molly approaches him, and cups his face in her hands. "Let go, George. Let go."

"I don't know what you're talking about, mum," he says, and turns around to leave, but Molly grasps his arms firmly and forces him to look at her.

"George, Fred was killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. I know it's hard for you to accept it, but there is no other way. You're making things more… difficult, do you hear me?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Uh-uh. Yeah." Then he turns around, and this time, she lets him go.

-

He wakes up one morning, and everything is shattered. Fred isn't there. Fred won't come home. Fred is dead. And he, his twin brother, has spent two weeks pretending that it didn't happen. Pretending that Fred was just away, _away_, and that he would come back, sooner or later.

And in a minute, the feeling is gone. Reality ensues. George clasps the blanket with both hands, and bits his lip. He feels like his stomach was stuck into his throat. The unfamiliar wetness of a tear, trickling down his face, startles him, and he sobs.

He pulls the blanket over his head, and curls up under it. In less than a second, he's screaming and crying. Everybody in the house hears him; nobody moves. But it's alright. He wouldn't want to be touched or consoled.

George thinks that if Fred were there, he would laugh at him.

-

"Hey, Fred."

It's a sunny day; there are no clouds in the sky, and the usually cold wind has apparently decided to let a welcomed warmth take over the field for, at least, one day. There are roses on the grave; and a box, full of envelopes. Letters. Everyone who felt like writing one had done so, and put it in the box. They are addressed to Fred – not that he will ever get the chance to read them. To George, it's rather pointless.

It's been one month. And it's the first time that George has taken up the courage that is necessary to visit his twin brother's grave.

"It's me." George swallows, and bits his lower lip. "I'm late. I know. But… you would do the same if you were…" He pauses. "I'm sorry. I just… I came to see if you're okay." He stands still for a second, unsure of what to say, then speaks again. "Mum's okay, and so is dad. Bill and Charlie are fine. Charlie's got back to Romania, you know. Work." Another pause. "Oh, great news: Ron and Hermione finally got together. You owe me three galleons." He swallows again. "And Ginny's still with Harry. And… Percy, well, I haven't seen him in a while."

George sits down beside the tombstone, legs crossed, and lifts the box of letters. "The shop is closed today, so I thought I would come here and… stay with you for the day. And… well, I thought that I could read you these letters. Lots of people wrote to you, uhm, let's see. Well, apart from mum and dad, and our brothers, and Ginny, there's a letter from Harry, and Hermione, and… Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Oliver Wood, and… and Angelina…" He chuckles. "I know what you're thinking. Let's start with this. And yes, I know that you'd say that I'm putting my nose into your private relationship, but… you'd do the same if you were me, so shut up."

George doesn't open the envelope. He puts it down, and sighs. "Yes, you're right. I haven't written anything. But I… I'm not a good writer, and I prefer to tell you what I could've written. I know that you'd want me to just go on, keep up with work, and friends, and just live a normal life, and screw it, you'd do it if you were me. But I…" His eyes hurt, his tongue is like a lump of glue in his mouth. _I can't do it without you, Fred. I can't._ Those are the words he is about to say. Those are the words that remain unspoken. He rests his head against the cold marble, and breathes in once, twice, three times.

"I don't have much to say, if not that you were – you are the best brother that one could have, and we had fun. And you'd better not forget this, because I won't say it twice."

George thinks that if Fred were there, he would laugh at him. And that is why George breathes in for the fourth time, takes Angelina's letter, and starts reading.

"Dear Fred," he says, and smiles as he reads the following words.

He is moving on.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. Reviews? Constructive criticism is always appreciated._


End file.
